Bruce sank into deep thought.
This was not the first time he had heard Schiller offer a perspective he had never encountered before—one that was quite unusual, yet seemed perfectly reasonable. But this time, the angle was especially strange.
In a normal person's worldview, laziness was wrong. Yet Schiller was telling him that without laziness, a person might become even more terrifying.
Actually, Bruce knew deep down that he had all the symptoms Schiller had described. They had improved somewhat by now, but they were still present.
The most obvious example was that, ever since childhood, Bruce had often felt that whenever he achieved something, a voice inside him would tell him there was nothing to be happy about. It was only a trivial accomplishment.
Yet at the same time, another voice would tell him that he was an unparalleled genius unlike anyone else, that his achievements surpassed everyone else's, that he was a great man without precedent.
Even when he had been very young, Bruce had found this confusing. He had even suspected that he might be somewhat fractured.
Why was there always one force suppressing his excitement, while another pushed him into excessive self-affirmation?
Even after growing up, Bruce had never found a clear answer.
And by today, he almost never felt happy over any of his accomplishments. At the same time, he sincerely believed that he was an unparalleled genius.
Though that was indeed true, when he thought about it, where had the process that led to these two outcomes—and those two mysterious forces—come from?
Bruce placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. Looking at Schiller, he said, "You mean this is because I can't be lazy?"
"The inertia of the human brain is stronger than you imagine." Schiller stared unblinkingly into Bruce's eyes. "I